Devastated
by EveningInHornersCorners
Summary: The island's inhabitants might have very well reached their darkest hour...and it doesn't help that perhaps the only one of them who could even possibly fix it is facing his own blue screen of death...
1. Chapter 1

Roy Hinkley leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes.

It had been a long day, starting at one o'clock that morning when Gilligan spotted a ship and tried to send up one of the bamboo flares, only to have it explode prematurely and wake the rest of the castaways from a sound sleep. Worse yet, none of them had been able to doze back off after the incident.

Then, a volcano on the other side of the island began to spew lava. Luckily it was only a false alarm, and there was no serious eruption, but it wracked all their nerves enough to last a century.

And as if that wasn't enough, a tidal wave crept up on them in the during the afternoon, damaging the huts of the Skipper and Gilligan and the Howells (Mrs. Howell had practically been in tears over her favorite mink, which the water had basically ruined), not to mention washing away the supply hut completely, leaving only a small amount of its contents scattered across the beach before a smaller wave claimed those as well.

After several hours of working—even the Howells pitching in—the entire group was so utterly miserable that they all agreed to take the rest of the day off and congregate at six so everyone could help with dinner. The Professor had used some of his free time to go through the jungle looking for plant samples but soon found himself too tired to continue and retired to his hut—where he was right now. Sleep hadn't come to him, but an hour and a half of rest had done him a world of good.

He had no idea where the others were, but a glance at his watch revealed that it was quarter to six, so they would be coming around soon. He might as well go out now—maybe take a book and read in the sunshine for a few minutes. Plucking _Bleak House _from the shelf, he opened the hut door.

That was when he saw Gilligan hightailing toward camp from the direction of the lagoon, wearing nothing but his swimming trunks, and carrying…was that Mary Ann?

Seeing the Professor in the doorway he fairly sprinted to the hut, and Roy couldn't help but think the first mate would have been a fabulous Olympian.

"Professor!" he babbled, still almost prancing in place. "I've been looking all over for you! There's something wrong with Mary Ann!" There was urgency in his voice that the scientist immediately detected. That was one thing about the red clad sailor—he always put himself right out there.

"Come in Gilligan. Put her on my pallet and tell me what happened." The first mate dashed in and gently placed the unconscious brunette where he'd been told to.

"Sit down." The Professor gestured to the chair he had just been sitting in. Gilligan gratefully complied.

"How long has she been out?" the teacher asked.

"As long as I have."

"Gilligan, I… Oh." Roy mentally slapped himself. Gilligan thought he meant _that _kind of out. "I mean, how long has she been unconscious?"

"I don't know. We were swimming in the lagoon. She slipped under the water and when she didn't come back up, I dove down to get her. She looked really awful when I got her back to the surface. She hasn't opened her eyes since."

"Hmm…She's been breathing alright?"

"Once I got her out of the water and she coughed some, yeah, she was breathing okay."

"Did she tell you that she was in any kind of pain at any point?"

"No…but she did say she wasn't hungry when I got out the picnic I packed for us."

"How long after breakfast was that?"

"Oh, I don't know, a few hours. When did we have breakfast?"

"Eight," the Professor replied, "And we were all in such a flurry over the tidal wave we didn't have lunch. We didn't stop working until three…how long did you swim before you got out the picnic?"

"I swam sixty-seven laps around the lagoon."

"How long does it take you to swim a lap?"

Gilligan beamed. "I had the Skipper time me last week. I can do a lap in fifty-seven seconds!"

_Yes, he should be in the Olympics…_

"So roughly an hour passed, which means she hadn't eaten for…eight hours? That is rather strange, I must say…That being said, however, it's entirely possible she merely had an upset stomach…"

The figure on the pallet stirred.

"Mary Ann!" Gilligan exclaimed, rushing to her side.

"Gill...ll…" she slurred.

"Don't try to talk Mary Ann." The Professor ordered. He stole a glance at his watch. Five to six.

"Gilligan, why don't you go out and start preparing dinner? I need to examine Mary Ann and it could take a while. The others should be along soon."

The first mate looked at Mary Ann protectively, almost as an older brother looks at his baby sister, and for a moment resisted before shrugging and mumbling an "okay", then getting up to leave.

Almost as soon as he was gone she let out a painful whimper, not unlike that an injured puppy might emit.

"Where does it hurt?" Roy asked quietly, stroking her forehead. She was a bit warm…could delirium be at work?

Her eyes flickered open, only to be scrunched closed again in a horrifying grimace. Once her facial muscles relaxed again, she replied, "My…my stomach, mostly. It's been killing me all afternoon. It hurts to be touched, too."

His eyes flitted toward a book on his shelf. _The Physician's Comprehensive Guide to Diseases and Disorders. _A gift to him from his uncle before entering…college.

Quick as a cat he pulled the volume down. The book opened up to the very page he needed.

An extremely well-worn page.

His finger shook as it followed the words in the box marked "Symptoms."

_Abdominal pain and tenderness…loss of appetite…fever… _

He nearly dropped the book.

_Oh no…God, please let me be wrong!_


	2. Chapter 2

After performing some other tests, Roy emerged from the hut, his face pale and pulse racing. The rest of the castaways were gathered around the communal table. Obviously making dinner had been forgotten.

"Is Mary Ann okay, Professor?" Gilligan asked anxiously, fear overwhelmingly present in his brown eyes.

The Professor's breath caught for a moment, and he wondered if he should tell the first mate the truth.

Yes. He had to. Those sincere eyes couldn't be lied to.

"No Gilligan. She's not. I have reason to believe her vermiform appendix is inflamed, and if that is the case…"

"Her _what_?" Gilligan exclaimed, blushing fiercely.

"Her vermiform appendix, often just referred to as the appendix. It's an outgrowth of the large intestine. It doesn't really do anything, though some believe it may have been of more use when humans ate raw meat on a regular basis. But when it becomes inflamed—that's called appendicitis—it can cause great pain and become extremely hazardous to the body's well-being unless removed immediately in a procedure called an appendectomy. If left untended acute appendicitis can kill a person, _especially_ if it causes peritonitis. Unfortunately, while simple for a doctor, an appendectomy is extremely difficult for a layman to perform. Oh, why couldn't my doctorate be in medicine instead of science?" He flung his medical supplies on the table and sat down on the bench, putting a hand to his face.

The Skipper's jaw was clenched, his muscles tense, but nonetheless he walked over to the teacher and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"This is no time to be guilt-tripping yourself, Professor," the captain said, his voice controlled, uncharacteristically calm. "Are you sure it's appendicitis?"

The younger man sighed. "I only wish I were sure of anything. I might have a better idea if I could do a white blood cell count…but that's out of the question."

"Gee, Professor, doesn't it take an awful long time to count every single blood cell?" Gilligan asked.

Roy felt too tired, too weighed down upon, too guilty to be annoyed. It was a perfectly innocent, and in a way, sensible question, wasn't it?

"One uses a machine to perform the task, Gilligan. Saves manual labor. Unfortunately, we don't have any such machine on this island."

"You can build everything else out of bamboo and coconuts. Why not something like that?" Mr. Howell asked, twisting his handkerchief a little, but not so much that anyone could tell he was really worried.

"Mr. Howell, I'm not sure you understand the severity of the situation. Mary Ann may have hours, I repeat, _hours_ left to live unless something is done. Even if I _could_ build such a thing, and I sincerely doubt I could, it would take _days_ at the _least_."

"Are you going to…operate?" Mrs. Howell squeaked, obviously cringing at the very word.

The Professor's face fell. "I—we can't unless we're sure. It could be a horrible mistake…"

"Then what do you suggest we do? Sit around and watch her die?" Mr. Howell snapped. His face softened and pain slowly began carving a design in it. "Professor…" he said raspily, "You have to do _something_."

"No. _I _can't do anything. Mary Ann isn't safe in my hands."

"What do you mean?" the Skipper asked, looking at Roy in total disbelief.

"Just what I said!" the teacher barked. "Whatever I do would be hazardous to her safety."

"Less hazardous than if any of us did it." Ginger pointed out, giving a sideways glance at Gilligan.

Roy sighed. "I'm…I'm sorry. You can use any of my books, my tools, _anything_."

As he began to get up from the table, the Skipper firmly took hold of his arm and jerked him the rest of the way to his feet.

"Professor, I know this must be a stressful situation, but we're counting on you. You can't just walk out on us."

The scientist laughed mirthlessly. "Oh yes I can. Very easily." Tearing his extremity from the captain's grasp, he stormed away from the table and those at it. Breaking into a run, he made it into the jungle.

_Stressful, Skipper? Yes, sir. More stressful than your like has ever known…_


	3. Chapter 3

The five remaining castaways were consumed by overwhelming silence after the Professor's departure. Their eyes begged each other to say something—_anything_—but no one dared speak up. A dozen times someone opened their mouth, only to have no words exit.

It went on like this for several minutes, until Ginger finally whispered, "What are we going to do?"

The Skipper sighed. "I don't know, Ginger. I just don't know."

Another bout of silence. This time it was interrupted by Mr. Howell.

"Well does _anyone _here have medical knowledge of any sort?"

The blue clad sailor shook his head. "Mr. Howell you know very well that combined we barely…" He stopped short.

"Is something wrong Skipper?" Ginger asked gently.

"Well…no, never mind."

"Go on." The movie star said, an undertone of urgency in her voice.

"On one of the ships I was on, a fellow came down with what was determined to be appendicitis. There was absolutely no way we could make it back to port in time. Everyone was worried sick. We didn't have a doctor on board, but we had two corpsmen…and they were able to perform the operation. The man made it out unscathed."

"And what is that supposed to prove?" Mr. Howell snapped. "None of us are…whatever type of lowly drone you just said."

"What it's supposed to prove, Mr. Howell," the portly man replied quietly, "is that a layman _can_ perform a successful appendectomy. It's very hazardous, but it can be done." His words hung heavily in the air as the group was once again brought to silence.

"Are you volunteering, then, Skipper?" Mrs. Howell inquired, tugging at one of her gloves.

The ship captain paled a bit, but his voice was even, his words chosen carefully. "I am of the opinion, Mrs. Howell, that we should attempt to find the Professor. He is the one best qualified to perform such an operation, whether he will admit it or not."

"But we can't search forever," the movie star pointed out, her eyes shrouded with fear. "Mary Ann might…"

"I know Ginger. We'll split up and meet back here in half an hour. If we haven't found him, I'll attempt the operation. Let's all synchronize watches."

After they did as they were directed, the Skipper looked at his first mate. "Stay here with Mary Ann, Gilligan. If she gets any worse, signal somehow."

Almost immediately after the words left his mouth, a bloodcurdling scream came from the hut. Five pairs of eyes met, and in a moment they were all on their feet, rushing to the source of the sound.

Gilligan was the first one through the door. It was quiet—the scream had been short—but the look of utter pain on Mary Ann's face explained its every decibel.

A moment later the first mate felt himself being pushed aside as the others rushed in, gawking at the figure on the pallet.

"I'm…I'm sorry I screamed," she apologized weakly, "it's just that I'm so cold one minute and then hot the next…and I feel like I'm being stabbed…I can't stand it. It feels so wrong."

The Skipper stroked her cheek. "You don't need to apologize, Mary Ann. We know you're in pain. Just…hold on." He turned his head and mouthed "fifteen minutes" to the rest of the group. Each one of them nodded.

He jerked his head back to the Kansan. "Gilligan's going to stay here with you, Mary Ann. The rest of us have to go out and look for…do something."

"Alright, Skipper. And please…" she added quietly, "don't worry about me."

The sailor mustered up a smile for her. "We…we won't Mary Ann." Then he got up, and, along with Ginger and the Howells, left the hut.

As soon as they were gone, the brunette looked up at Gilligan.

"Did the Professor tell you what was wrong with me?"

The question caught him off-guard and for a moment the answer lingered on the tip of his tongue.

His mother had taught him to be honest. Always.

But was there ever an exception to the rule? To make someone feel better, worry less…

He swallowed. If there was ever such a time, this was it.

He reached down to tuck a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear. "All he said was that you're going to be fine. Just fine."

She breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes, satisfied.

The angelic smile on her face was worth every word of the prevarication.


	4. Chapter 4

Normally, to search for fifteen minutes would have been a great hardship for the Howells, but in this instance it was not; indeed, right now their sole concern was for Mary Ann's well-being.

"Professor!" Lovey called for the umpteenth time.

Her husband offered a bit more.

"Professor! Professor, if you perform this operation I'll pay you _twice _as much as the best paid surgeon in the world. Professor, _please_."

Thurston Howell wasn't used to begging. He'd never needed to. But now, at this moment, it seemed the best thing to do. So he continued on in this fashion, unaware that his bribes and pleas fell upon two sets of ears: deaf ones and those of the choir he was preaching to.

###

_Four and a half minutes. Four and three quarters minutes…_

Ginger pushed aside a large, waxy leaf, and, despite herself, smiled.

Pay dirt.

There he was, sitting on some natural stone ledge outside of a little cave. Cautiously she crept up and took a seat beside him.

"She's getting worse, Professor. She's started having chills."

"Chills?" he said mechanically, not quite paying attention to her. "A classic symptom of peritonitis…"

"Professor, _please_. You have to come back and help us."

"No…_no_!" He snapped back to his senses. "Ginger, you don't understand. I _can't_."

"What do you mean you _can't_? You said it yourself Professor. She could have hours left. The Skipper said if we didn't find you he'd do it, but don't you see? You're by far the one of us best qualified."

"Ginger, how many times do I have to say I can't do it?"

"Why?" she asked sharply.

He was silent for one minute, then two.

"Well?"

He sighed. "Did I ever tell you that I was in medical school?"

"No."

"I always wanted to be a doctor, ever since I was a child. So straight out of high school I began working to achieve that goal. I met a girl named Katie. She was a medical student too. She was smart as a whip, and pretty as the day is long."

Ginger's curiosity piqued at this tidbit and her ears almost perked up as he continued.

"We started going steady pretty quickly. We were young, but very much in love. We planned to get married once we were done with school. We had our whole future planned out. But one day everything ended. Just like that." He snapped his fingers.

The movie star tilted her head. "Why?"

Roy took a deep breath. "We went out mountain climbing one day in February. Katie felt nauseous and developed a severe pain in her side, but she didn't tell me until she could barely move. We both knew the symptoms. It was appendicitis."

The teacher paused for a moment here until he saw the redhead's eyes, imploring him to continue.

"I was able to maneuver her onto a ledge where she could lie down. But we were still out in the middle of nowhere, without even a remote possibility of help reaching us in time, even if we had a way to contact someone. She was in so much pain and begged me to try and operate…what could I do? I just had my Swiss Army knife, but I tried…and I killed her."

The scientist looked up from where his eyes were fixed on the ground, and Ginger looked into them, and, by extension, his soul. They were haunted, cloudy pools, resembling mud-filled puddles on a rainy day.

He glanced down. "No matter how many times I wash my hands, the blood won't come off. No one else can see it, but I can." He brushed at a tear that had escaped from the corner of his eye. "I left medical school after that. There was no way I could go back…too many memories. For a year I just…crumbled. Without her, I was alone in the world. I stopped going to Mass, didn't eat, skipped class, became addicted to sleeping pills. I tried to kill myself so many times they almost had me committed. But one day my mentor—one of my professors—came to my apartment and shook some sense into me. He told me that I wasn't doing the world or myself any good holed up, wishing I was dead. With his help I got my life together and pursued other sciences. They helped block the pain, if not ease it. But what happened—it's still something I think about every day, and I wonder, why did Katie die? Why not me? Why wasn't she stranded with a veteran doctor of thirty years instead of a second year medical student? Why did I try to perform the operation when I knew I wasn't qualified?"

Ginger reached out a hand, cautiously balancing it before putting it on his shoulder.

"Professor, you can go through the whys and the what-ifs forever, but they don't change the past. Nor should they dictate the future. What's done is done. Katie's dead, and she's not coming back. But Mary Ann still has a chance. What would Katie have wanted? Would she want you to risk another life in memory of the loss of hers?"

The Professor blinked.

"She…she once told me she wanted to become a doctor so she could help people…save lives. She would have if I hadn't…"

Ginger looked at the man pointedly. "Professor, isn't it about time you stopped blaming yourself? For goodness sake. It was a combination of bad timing and bad location."

"And poor medical skills." He added, a quiet sigh tugging at his voice. "I never did begin attending Mass again. How could I? She was as faithful as they came, and then God turned around and betrayed her just like that. What sort of god would do that?"

The movie star sighed. "You're always so negative, Professor. Why couldn't you ever look at things in a positive light? If she was as faithful as you say she was, didn't it ever occur to you that she might be in Heaven? Free from pain and suffering?"

"That doesn't take away from what I did!" the teacher retorted sharply. "Don't you understand? I _murdered_ her, and I'm not about to do the same to Mary Ann!"

Ginger was approaching her boiling point.

"Murder is intentional. What you did wasn't intentional."

"I _knew _I couldn't perform the operation properly, and yet I tried to. I _intentionally _made that choice, so, in effect, I _did_ murder her."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Don't even go into the 'in effect' stuff. I have to meet the others back at camp, so I'm just going to leave you with this thought: you're the most qualified one of us to perform the operation, and, by refusing to do it, you're condemning Mary Ann to an almost certain death sentence. Does she deserve that?" Without waiting for a response, she got up and stormed away, not noticing the dark clouds already beginning to scud across the sky.

###

The Skipper panted as he drew aside yet another curtain-like layer of foliage, which, as usual, was generously supplied with spiders. No sign of the Professor. Granted, they'd barely had time to even begin looking for him, but things were beginning to look so bad for Mary Ann, they couldn't delay it any further.

He sighed, nervousness beginning to cluster in his stomach. He'd have to live up to his word to perform the operation and yet…

No. He couldn't think about that now. When the time came, he could focus on it. Right now he just had to concentrate on getting through this rough patch of jungle, back to camp.

He'd just worked his way through a fairly large clump of vines and was headed for a clearer area consisting mostly of trees when he felt the rain. Not just a drop, but a light torrent. Casting a glance at the sky, he was shocked to see that deep, dark clouds had turned the sky almost black. This storm must have been brewing for weeks…could it even be in typhoon territory?

A stroke of lightening cracked, thunder on its heel. He stood stock still, too shocked to move a muscle. Another bolt struck. This time it was closer to home.

Much closer.

It happened before his eyes in slow motion, and yet too fast for him to run or do anything but watch as a tree was snapped by the lightening, leaving only half of it rooted to the ground.

The other half was on him.


End file.
